


Undying Love

by Sam KW (samudee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Love, M/M, Near-Death Experience, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Episode: s04e22 Sweet Revenge, a talk wth the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samudee/pseuds/Sam%20KW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's mainly about Starsky's experiences and what he faces as he dies in the hospital. He has a chance to come back to be with Hutch. It's his choice. What will Starsky do?  <br/>He also has been granted a wish. What could it be? </p>
<p>This story was written for the Advent Calendar, 2015. Most of you may have read it already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**May, 1979, Police garage parking lot**

**Starsky.**

 

_Damn! Someone's frying their tires. A wheel alignment job's coming right up._

**_"Starsky, get down."_ **

_What?_

_Holy shit! Is that an M3? How the heck did cops-_

_They ain't cops._

_Fuck the protocols._

_If Hutch thinks I'm gonna duck and let him take the fall…_

_You may get me, but you won't get my partner. Not on my watch. Meet David Michael Starsky, you shit-heads!_

_Glass!_

_Christ! Is it the Torino's?_

_What am I doing on the ground?_

_I think I've hit my head on the wheel._

_I shot back at them. Did I hit the glass, instead?_

_Jeez, my head aches like a bitch._

_Damn! My wheels are covered with rust._

_How's that even possible when I spent half my paycheck for the damn Magnum 500 chrome set. They came with a life-time warranty. I'm gonna get my money back._

_How come there's rust on the ground?_

_Rust **is** red but not this red._

_Holy cow! It's blood. Whose blood?_

_Shit!_

_They were shooting at us. They were shooting at Hutch! Good thing I didn't get down._

_Blondie's gonna be mad at me. There'd be hell to pay when we get home tonight. He's gonna have my hide for not following procedure!_

_But where's Hutch?_

**_HUUUUTCH?_ **

**_Blood-- Is this Hutch's blood?_ **

_No, no, noooo. They've got him. He's hurt._

_Where the hell are you? **Talk to me.** _

_Hutch has gotten shot and I can't even get up to go look for him. Damn head hurts like hell and I can't feel my legs. How hard did I fall against the wheel?_

_I'm coming, buddy. Just hold on._

**_Hutch?_ **

_Answer me, partner!_

_Talk to me, you bastard!_

**_Hutch! Huuuuutch!_ **

_I can't hold on for any long. It's getting dark… cold. Why can't I breathe?_

_What's happening?_

**_Hutch!_ **

**_Hutch?_ **

***

 

Hutch's dead… because I couldn't get to him. Those men, got to be hit men. Whoever they were, they got him.

And I am still here.

Not for long.

I have to find Hutch. What the fuck am I doing in a hospital? All bandaged up, with all those tubes. _Gah!_

Wait!

If I am on the bed, _down there_ , how could I also be sitting all the way _up here,_ on a floating bench?

If Hutch was alive, and I'm in a hospital, he would've been right beside my bed. He's nowhere to be seen.

Why?

_Hutch is dead! That's why!_

I've got get out of here. I need to go find Hutch. He has to be somewhere around here… sitting on another bench waiting for me.

_Whoa! What's this?_

This ain't the hospital. Looks like a big empty mansion. How did I come here and why? Not that I'm complaining. I just wanna know whether I'm dreamin' or if this is for real?

**_Helloooooo! Anybody hear me?_ **

Lots'a white bundles all over the place. Looks just like Eskimo igloos, 'cept these are smaller, nicer, and everywhere.

Feels good. It's kind'a peaceful, calm and quiet. No bleepin' machines, no chaos; far away from the frickin' hospital smell. I'll never go there again. No reason to-- Hutch ain't there anymore.

He's gone. I can't go back because _I failed my partner_ ,and now he's dead.

What kind of walls are these—white marble? Why can't I feel it?

_Where the hell are my arms?_

What the fuck-- _Where's my body?_ If my body ain't here with me, how am I moving? If I don’t have my body, how am I thinking? If I don't have eyes, how can I see?

**Are you sure you are moving?**

_Wha-- Who's that?_

**Good question. But the most important one is, what are you doing here?**

I just kind'a stumbled upon this place. Looks nice. Can I stay here?

**It's not your time, yet. Like you said, you just stumbled upon the place.**

There's nothing for me to go back to.

**Are you sure?**

If I'm talking to someone here, why can't I see you? Are you hiding somewhere?

**You aren't really talking to a person.**

Now… I know this is weird, even for me. I do have a colorful imagination, but this's too much. I don't really have a body. So… I can't be talking—right? But then how are my questions being answered? Whoever that's talking to me, I don’t hear you, but I understand you. It's like… answers just float into me. Knowledge seems to come to me whenever I think of a question. So… does that mean you are the universe?

**Seems like you are not just brawn after all.**

Tell that to my partner. Have you seen him around here?

**I see everyone. Everywhere.**

What are these white thingies?

**They were once like you, but now they're waiting.**

For what?

**Until they can move on to their next destination.**

Like me?

**You have to go back.**

There's nothing for me to go back to. Hutch is dead.

**How do you know?**

He isn't where he's supposed to be.

**And you think you are?**

I am here. Ain't I? Where else should I be?

**Do you want to stay here?**

I have to find my partner. I can't stay or move on or do anything until I find him. _Where the hell is Hutch?_

_***_

_What the—_

How did I get back to the hospital? Where's the white marble mansion? Does this mean that I only have to think where I have to be, and I get transported, automatically?

_Cool!_

'Cept, I still can’t see Hutch.

_Jesus Christ!_ What the fuck are they doing to me? Shocking my heart?

_Am I dead? Of course, I am dead._ I decided to not go back.

Hutch isn't there anymore. There's no one for me to go back to. I need to get to the marble palace. I might get answers from _Mr. Universe_.

***

This is getting easier. I think I'm getting the hang of it.

**You are back.**

I'm dead. I should be here. Why _else_ am I here? Why isn't Hutch here?

**Should he be here?**

If this is kind'a crossroad we have to be in, before moving on, Hutch would be here for me. He wouldn't leave.

**You have your answer.**

He didn't die. Is that what you're tryin' to tell me? Or has he moved on without waiting for me? _No._ Hutch wouldn’t do that. _Would he?_

**That's for you to find out. And remember… If you truly want to, you can stay here.**

I have to find Hutch. _Why can't you understand that?_ He's somewhere in the hospital. I need to go there. I need to find him.

***

_I'm sick of going back and forth._

I know and I feel that the dimension of time is very different wherever I am right now. Minutes, seconds doesn’t mean a thing. For all I know, all of this may have happened in less than a second.

Everyone's staring at my body. Dobey, Huggy, and the whole precinct are watching my last moments.

Hutch? **I can see Hutch!** _Running_ … he's running… he thinks it's too late. I can… I can feel him. His heart is beating wildly in a state of a despair. He thinks he's lost me.

Ah, Hutch! Don’t go there. Not on another guilt trip. It's not your fault.

God! Please… don't do this to him. Please… he's lost.

Guilt and grief will bury him alive in a sea of hopelessness. He keeps on seeing me being gunned down. It's playing over and over in his head like a looped film reel. Anger and darkness is taking over his soul. No… no! _Don't!_

It's him against everyone else. He's sinking fast and furiously. If I don't get back to him, a whole lotta dead bodies are gonna get piled up in the morgue.

I have to get back into my body before it's too late. I only have to think of it—right?

_My body -- my body -- my body. Take me back to my body._

_***_

Shit!

I'm back in the white room. This ain't where I wanna be.

**It's not your time to go back, either.**

You told me earlier that I _have_ to go back. And I _want to_ because Hutch is over there. He is alive.

**Yes, but not before you know what you are truly going back to. I'm giving you a choice. I can show you what you'd have to tolerate; I can show you the pain you'd have to endure, if you return.**

Pain?

**Yes… endless hours of therapy and hospital visits, dependence on others for the seemingly simplest tasks, a bleak future that can't be ignored, where uncertainty is the only thing that's certain.**

_What -- How's this – Pain… How can I feel it when I don’t have a body?_

Stop.

_STOP!_

I can't breathe, I can't… I can't even think. This is worse than anything I've ever experienced. It's a million times worse than the stomach ache I got after eatin' Aunt Rosa's chicken soup. Even what Bellamy's poison did to me was a park in the walk… I mean-- walk in the park, compared to… _Aarrghh! Stop this!_

**This is what you'd be going back to.**

Stop it. _Stop._ I can't go through this.

**You felt only one tenth of one percent of what you'd have to face, if you go back.**

_IF_ I decide to go back? You don’t get it do you? There's no _IF_ here. I AM GOING BACK.

**Why?**

This's _nuthin'._ This's nuthin' compared to what Hutch'd suffer if I'm not with him.

**You still want to go, despite what I have shown how and what it could be like for you?**

I can suffer anything and everything. If I don't go back, Hutch… he'll never be the same again. Don't you understand? I _want_ to be _with_ him. I belong-- with him-- to him.

**You are sacrificing your eternal happiness for a life full of pain, dread, frustration, and uncertainty.**

I want to be with _Hutch_. _He needs me._ I need him. This cannot be the last memory he has of me. It's gonna kill him.

**So be it. However, before you leave, I have one more question for you.**

T'rrific. Do we have to do this now? I'm dyin' there for all I know.

**If there's one thing that you'd want to have, one thing that you'd wish for, what would that be?**

There are lots'a things I can wish for. I can give you a list of hundred.

**Give me what you want the most.**

There's this one thing that I wish didn’t happen. Hutch -- he was kidnapped one time, and drugged. I want that to **_not_** have happened.

**Ah! I think you misunderstood. The past cannot be changed. What's been done cannot be undone, but the future is in your hands.**

What now… you turned into a genie or somethin'? Are you gonna grant me a wish?

**I might.**

Thought you were the universe. Don't you know what I'd want?

**That's what I was afraid of. Why does it have to be all about him?**

*******


	2. Chapter 2

**October, 1979. Baymont Center for Physical Therapy.**

**Starsky.**

 

"Your friend isn't staying today?" asked Kevin, Starsky's physical therapist, while escorting Starsky to the therapy room.

Hutch had to go to work early this morning. Huggy had taken over the after-session driving duties. "My friend?"

"Yes. The tall blond one," Kevin said closing the door behind him.

Starsky unbuttoned his shirt. He liked the peaceful white marble-like texture of the rooms in the Center. It calmed his nerves and gave him a sense of familiarity. He had been to a place like this, he was sure, but had no recollection where. "Nah. He's not my friend," Starsky said, lying down on the crisp clean sheets of the massage table.

Kevin looked surprised. "No?"

"No." Starsky grinned. "He's the rest of me. The better half, but don't tell Hutch that."

Kevin laughed. "I don't know about the _better_ part, but he watches over you like a hawk. I can remember when you were first brought to this place. He questioned--"

"I think the word you are looking for is _interrogated_ ," said Starsky, remembering Hutch's grueling questions directed towards the therapists and doctors in charge of Starsky's rehabilitation. He wanted to know each and every detail of various therapies, exercises, and massages that had been prescribed for Starsky.

"He cares about you a lot. Doesn't he?"

"We've known each other a long time. Been through some rough times together." Starsky swallowed hard, thinking of the close calls they'd had, remembering how Hutch always came through whenever Starsky was in trouble. "I'm lucky to have him." He choked up on his words.

"He said the same about you." Kevin placed the heated pads on Starsky's chest. "Said you're the best thing that ever happened to him."

"He's a big softie." Starsky smiled.

"I don't think anyone around here would agree with you." Kevin laughed. "And I'm glad he didn't stay around for today's session."

"Why's that?" asked Starsky.

"We're starting a new therapy today. A neuro-fascial massage. This will remove adhesions and tension within your muscles. You'll move better after this because right now your motions are restricted by some of the scar tissue," Kevin explained.

"So… this will break up the scar tissue?"

"No. Not really. But it'd help a lot. And we'll get into ART later, to break up those scars."

"ART?"

"Active Release Treatment. I'll explain later, but for the next three weeks, we'll concentrate on this deep tissue massage."

"Sounds good to me. So why didn't you want Hutch around?"

"Even though I'm your therapist, he would want to kill me for hurting you," said Kevin. "And don't take this lightly, David. This will hurt, a lot more than other days."

***

It was as if Starsky had to re-live the shooting all over again, but in a different way. "Feels like you've used me for a punching bag," Starsky gasped, sweat trickling down his face.

"It'll be worse tomorrow. But after that… you'll start feeling a big difference. The pain will lessen with each session. No pain. No gain."

" _No shit!_ " Breathing hurt as well. "I think you're some kind of sadist," Starsky muttered.

Kevin chuckled. "Told you it'd hurt."

"This is nothing," Starsky said, sitting up and buttoning up his shirt. "This is nothing compared to what Hutch had to--" Starsky stopped. He was sure he had spoken those exact same words somewhere, sometime, not that long ago.

 _Oh, God_ _!_ The room… the white marble-like room.

"David?" Kevin asked, touching Starsky's shoulder. "What's wrong? David-- talk to me,"

"I'm okay," gasped Starsky. "I'm all right. It's something else. I--" It was like _deja vu_.

"Do you want me to call Hutch?" Kevin took Starsky's pulse. "You're shaking."

"Just gimme a second." Starsky closed his eyes tightly and hung his head, allowing himself to get his composure. It wasn't a dream at all. He had experienced something extraordinary while suspended somewhere between life and death.

_He had come back to this life… for Hutch and himself, because it hurt to be away from Hutch. There was no moving on without his partner._

He had also gotten the wish of a lifetime!

Starsky looked up at Kevin, feeling lighter, happier, and hopeful of the future.

***

The pain was too much to bear, but Starsky didn't want to take any pain killers. He was sick of them. He walked around the house looking for small things to do, to keep his mind off of what he'd endured today. Starsky placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, folded yesterday's laundry, and wiped the soap and toothpaste stains off the bathroom mirror. Hutch always left a ton of spots on it. How he managed to do that, Starsky had no idea!

Recovery was a bitch, but Starsky would go through this agony over and over again, if his continuing recovery kept Hutch smiling.

_God!_

He had done it for Hutch.

One of the bulbs in his living room chandelier had burnt out a few days ago. Starsky found their stash of extra bulbs in the storage closet and got busy replacing it. A simple task that once took just a minute now demanded ten minutes or so of his time.

Starsky listened to the all too familiar car engine sputtering to a stop and a door slamming closed. Moments after, heavy footsteps ran quickly up the stairs outside.

The front door opened. **"Starsky-- get the hell down!"**

"What?" Starsky asked, looking at Hutch who stood staring at him from two feet away. "What do you mean get down? I just climbed onto the chair here to fix the bulb."

"I could've done it."

"Of course you can." Starsky tightened the bulb in place, wiped the fingerprints off the glass surface with a rag, and stepped off the chair, instead of jumping off. Not that he could've accomplished something like that, anyway, but Hutch would've had a fit if he even attempted such a thing. According to Hutch, Starsky could shatter into millions of pieces if he took one step in the wrong direction.

"I wasn't on a roof or a ladder or a two legged stool, ya know," Starsky said, walking over to Hutch. He cupped Hutch's face between his palms and looked into his eyes. He smiled, hoping it would mask the fiery pain that consumed his body. "I'm not gonna break, Hutch."

"What stool?" Hutch asked, squinting his eyes.

"Exactly." Starsky smacked a kiss on Hutch's forehead. "How come you're home at this time-- it's not even one o'clock yet."

"What happened during therapy?" Hutch asked, holding Starsky's hands against his face, tightly. "You look terrible, Starsk. What happened?"

 _Huggy!_ Starsky had given specific instructions to Huggy on what he should tell Hutch about Starsky's condition, because Starsky knew Hutch was gonna call Huggy as soon as he dropped Starsky back at his apartment. Apparently, Huggy had not abided by Starsky's rules.

"You're sweating," Hutch said, touching Starsky's face with one hand while still maintaining his hold on Starsky's hand with the other. Hutch tilted his head slightly, cupping Starsky's cheek and chin with his palm. He pleaded with his eyes for Starsky to not lie to him.

"I'm all right." Starsky sighed. There was no point hiding anything. Hutch would only get more worried. "It was a new kind of deep tissue massage."

Hutch didn't seem to believe Starsky. He brushed his arm over Starsky's neck and chest, and stopped at the opening of Starsky's white cotton shirt. He tugged at the button, his eyes asking a different question now.

Starsky nodded.

Hutch gently undid Starsky's shirt buttons, one by one.

Their lives had changed so much during the past couple of months. He and Hutch were always close. Very close. But now… it was a whole new level of tenderness in their relationship. They had never openly talked about what was to be done or how things were to be done. Everything just took its course, and he and Hutch did what came naturally.

"God!" Hutch gasped, running his fingers along the surgical scars. Starsky watched the emotions playing across Hutch's face. He wanted to absorb all of Starsky's pain.

"Hey," Starsky said, clutching Hutch's palm and holding it firmly. "Look at me."

Hutch inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily. "Your chest is too warm, Starsk. And all red, like-- like _blood red_."

"Told ya, Hutch, they started a new therapy."

"Why don't you lie down? Why are you running around fixing bulbs?"

"I'm all right. Shouldn't you be at work, huh? Aren't you supposed to work a full day today?"

"It's my lunch time."

"Since when did Cap'n Dobey allowed extended lunch breaks?"

"I should've gone with you." Hutch hung his head and slumped his shoulders dejectedly. "I should've been with you today."

"You can't be in two places at the same time, Hutch. Besides, there's nothing you could've done, anyway."

"You're in pain. Don't try to hide it from me, Starsk." Hutch's eyes flickered with worry and guilt. "I should've been with you and brought you home myself."

"And kiss and make me feel better?" Starsky asked, brushing his knuckles against Hutch's cheeks. "For how long are you gonna keep up this _I should've-would've-could've_ routine? Don't you think it's time to let go?"

"I can't do this anymore, Starsk," Hutch's bottom lip quivered and his voice faltered. "I can't live like this thinking that something will happen while I'm away and you'll be gone forever."

Starsky pulled Hutch closer in a hug as Hutch wrapped his arms around him and buried his head against Starsky's shoulders, choking on a sob.

Starsky maneuvered both of them onto the couch, knowing he would not be able to support Hutch's full weight standing upright. Hutch shook convulsively and gave away to sobs. Starsky held him, swallowing back his own emotions crawling up his throat. He wasn't strong enough physically yet, but Starsky had better control over his emotions than Hutch. Right now, he had to be the stronger one, allowing Hutch to breakdown and wash away his sorrows. Starsky had witnessed the pain and fear behind Hutch's eyes; he'd heard the pained breaths and gasps Hutch let out when he thought no one was listening. Starsky always knew what was playing behind the brave and strong front Hutch was putting on display for everyone. In reality, day by day, Hutch was disintegrating and falling apart.

Starsky sighed deeply, knowing there was nothing he could say without making Hutch more agitated. "I'm not going anywhere, Hutch," Starsky promised.

Hutch shook his head. "You can't promise me that, Starsk. No one can."

_But Starsky could!_

Starsky just had to find the right words and the right time to say them. For now, Starsky allowed Hutch to cry his heart out, holding Hutch's grief to his own as Hutch exhaled his pain in miserable gusts.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**December, 1979. Starsky's apartment.**

**Hutch.**

We'd just celebrated a small Christmas party at Starsky's apartment, with the people we are close to: Dobey and his family, Huggy, Minnie, and a couple of others from the precinct. Starsky's mother and Nicky didn't come because they had already visited Starsky two months ago. My family has never made it to Bay City for celebrations.

We had so much to be thankful for and celebrate: good friends, Starsky's recovery, which was moving forward beautifully, and our new jobs with the police department as cold case investigators. Dobey pulled his weight and set the transfer up when Starsky and I decided to quit the Force. Now, Starsky works only a couple of hours each week, but he'll soon be capable enough to handle most of his activities, driving included.

I sat near the Christmas tree in Starsky's apartment, which Huggy helped to put up, and started removing the torn bits of wrapping paper around it. It was a good day and Starsky was all smiles.

We hadn't bought anything for each other for Christmas. Starsky had asked me to not to. Said he had everything he needed, and that I had given him enough gifts to last a lifetime of Christmases. _Who would've thought Starsky would refuse gifts for Christmas?_ We bought gifts for all our friends who had supported us during our darkest times, and hand delivered gift baskets to the hospital staff of every ward Starsky stayed at, as well as Starsky's physical therapy group.

We never talked about our relationship. I think he knows how I feel. I think he feels the same, but what if he doesn't? What if it's just an illusion or a coping mechanism I've created for myself like everything else? That's why, I've decided to move back to my apartment. At least… that'd give him time to think things over and move on in a direction that's suitable for him. I'd promised myself that I'd never come between him and any of his decisions. All I have to do now is tell him my decision and talk with him about when I should move out. It's not Starsky who depends on me, it's me who depends on him, now. He doesn't see it, though.

Something is different now in Starsky's demeanor. He's at peace with everything. I started to notice it a couple of weeks ago. Something had changed for the better, but I couldn't fathom what or when or why. On the other hand, I seem to be stuck on the day that changed our lives forever. Seems like it all happened just a few seconds ago. The hail of gun fire, bullets flying all over the place, shattering of glass and the feel of the heat of the floor when I got down beside the car. While I was saved by the Torino, Starsky drew fire on to himself and was gunned down on the other side. The Torino stood between us… protecting me and sacrificing Starsky.

_Why-- Why did it have to be him?_

Starsky on the ground, his head on a rim of the tire, blood pooling around him as his life leaked away; it's my hell that I'd have to live with every day. My punishment for not doing what a partner should've done. I didn't save him.

I see him and I can touch him, sense him, smell him right here with me, but… I can't shake the feeling that I will lose him, eventually.

"Hey," Starsky sat beside me at the Christmas tree. "Why don't we call it a day and get some shut eye? I'm tired, and so are you," he said, yawning.

"You don't want to be awake to catch Santa?"

"Santa came early this year." Starsky smiled. "Looks like you don’t wanna go to bed quite yet? Expecting someone other than Santa to come down the chimney?"

"You don't have a chimney, Starsk."

"You mean my _house_ doesn't have one," Starsky said, pulling himself up a bit and kneeling behind me. "I don't think my body can hold any chimneys."

"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling Starsky's arms on my back.

"You've been workin' too much. I think you need a good shoulder rub."

I groaned as Starsky started to massage my neck and shoulders. His hands could do wonders. And I'm not kidding. Not a single massage therapist in Bay City can do what Starsky does to me.

"You are not going to relax, sitting like this on the floor. Get up," said Starsky as he stood.

"You're more tired and worn out than me, Starsk. You are not in any condition to give massages."

"Will you just shut up and come with me."

Good luck with getting into a conversation about moving out when he's planning to give me a massage. He's going to turn me into a pile of jelly with those hands and I'd fall asleep in no time; I didn’t have to do mathematical calculations to figure out that one.

I got up and followed Starsky to the bedroom. I stripped down to my boxers, got into the bed and lay on my stomach. Starsky applied a generous amount of massage oil between his palms and started his magic on me. I couldn’t help moaning and groaning. It was too good to be true. This was better than any he'd done before. "Looks like you've picked up a trick or two in therapy."

"I just know what worked on me." Starsky chuckled. "Kevin talked about trigger points and stuff. I dunno where they are exactly, but I know how and what made me feel good."

"Kevin taught you how to do massages?" I couldn’t help resenting Kevin. He'd been Starsky's physical therapist for a long time. The man also specialized in massages. "How long has that been going?"

" _Ken Hutchinson!_ " Starsky gasped. I knew that tone. He was making fun of me. "Are you jealous?"

My mouth dried up instantly. If I didn’t get something to drink, my tongue would stick to my palate permanently. I was afraid to say anything in return. Wasn't even sure what I should say, anyway. Of course I was jealous. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"What now--? Cat got your tongue?" asked Starsky. "Kevin may know all the rehabilitation-related medical massages, but the ones that worked best were the ones you did for me."

Starsky wasn't helping! My throat was getting tighter and tighter. I'd have to gasp for air if this continued.

I may have given Starsky a thousand or more little massages during his recovery. He'd wake up in the middle of the night with pains, feeling uncomfortable. He would only go back to sleep when I'd come lay beside him and rub his back or his chest. Before long, both of us realized that being together was the only solution for both of us getting some sleep at night. For me, feeling his heart beat against my palm, and his warm body next to me, lulled me to sleep instantly. For him… I'm not sure what it was. He wanted me next to him even when he didn’t want any massages.

Moving out of Starsky's apartment didn’t seem like a good idea anymore. How on earth was I ever going to sleep peacefully when he wasn't by my side?

Starsky's skilled fingers moved from my neck to my shoulder blades and all over my back. This is what heaven was for me. "Don't stop," I mumbled, finally.

***

Waking up beside Starsky had become the best part of the whole day. Today… I wasn't just waking up beside him, I was all over him. My face was buried in the curve of Starsky's neck, his arm around my head, holding me in place, my arm around his hip, and one of my legs had settled between Starsky's legs. I was all wrapped up with Starsky. Sometime in my sleep, I had reached out to him, and as usual, Starsky had given himself and his comfort to me, with no questions asked.

I left Starsky's embrace, slowly and quietly as possible, not wanting him to find out how I had ended snuggling up to him. I was afraid that seeing how we were would not help with the conversation I was planning on having later today. It sure wasn't helping me. Maybe I should wait for another day or two until Christmas was over.

I got the coffee brewing and finished up my morning bathroom routine. By the time I'd finished watering Starsky's plants as well as my own that I'd moved from Venice Place to Starsky's balcony, he had showered and poured himself a cup of coffee as well.

"We should go for a walk later," Starsky said, leaning against the wooden table he had on the balcony. He had his favorite white Peruvian wool sweater wrapped around his shoulders. Starsky left his mug on the table and rubbed his palms together, while blowing onto his palms to warm them up. The morning was a bit chilly but comfortable.

Wiping my hands on my pants, I walked up to him, removed the sweater, held it around him until he pushed his arms in and wiggled into it properly. "Feeling cold?"

"Not anymore." Starsky grinned like a cat who had found a room full of catnip cookies.

This was another one of those things he had gotten me to do nowadays. He'd wear something half-way or just throw his shirts, tees, or sweaters over his shoulders. I started to 'dress' him – and now, it had become a routine. It really started as something I _had_ to do for Starsky because it was painful for him to move around and dress himself, but now, though he was totally capable of wearing any damn thing, he made me do it, and I wasn't going to complain. I loved it.

 _Damn!_ And I've been thinking of moving out. This isn’t working.

"I need to talk to you about somethin'," said Starsky.

I took a sip out of Starsky's coffee. "What?" I handed the mug over to him.

"My lease on this place will end in two months."

"Oh." What was he going to talk to me about now? It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Suddenly I felt my ears burning, as if flames were slapping against my face. "So… what's there to think about it? You have to extend it, right?"

"I'm thinking of moving."

 _Moving?_ Moving where? What was he talking about? Where was he going to move to?

I was too afraid to ask. Didn’t he like being a cold-case investigator? Did he want to move to New York? It had to be New York!

_God!_

_No!_

I was only thinking of moving back to Venice Place to give Starsky some space. To make sure that what he wants in life is what I think he wants. But… does this mean that he wants to move away across the country?

"Hutch?"

I turned around and went back and picked up the watering can. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t let him see how much I was shaking inside. "Yes, sure," I said. Sure, he can move out. Sure, he can go away.

And I was _sure_ I wouldn't be able to go on living if he did.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**1979 December, Starsky's apartment.**

**Starsky.**

 

I say I wanna jump, Hutch takes a leap of thousands of miles to the other end, without even considering it could be just one hurdle that I wanted to conquer, right in here. I only said _moving,_ and Hutch turned as white as a streak of contrails the planes leave behind. If I didn’t say something, he'd vanish and disappear into the blue sky.

Hutch started watering the plants for the third time. Good thing I know how his mind works. I took the water can away from him. "You're gonna drown Miss Maidenhair if you keep this up."

"Huh?" Hutch turned around as if he'd seen a ghost. He was shaking, and it wasn't the cold that did it to him.

"Let's go inside." I pushed him back into the apartment, made him sit at the table, and got my mug filled with more coffee. I pressed the cup between his palms and leaned against the table, beside him, facing him.

He took a couple of sips, but color wasn't returning to his cheeks. And he wasn't looking me in the eye.

"I didn’t mean moving away from Bay City, Hutch."

Hutch tightened his fingers around the coffee mug.

How could he even think that I would want to be away from him? "My life is with you. 'Bout time you get that into your blond skull."

"Then what did you mean by moving?" Hutch asked, shakily.

"Moving out of _this_ house to some other place where _we_ have enough space for both of us."

Hutch's head shot up. I don't think he heard me clearly. He was lookin' at me as if I had just been dropped off by an alien ship.

"What?" I asked.

"T-t-t-two of us?" A look of fear changed to hope within those eyes.

I gave him a _do-I-have-to-explain-this-word-for-word-to-you,-Mr.-I-went-to-college_ look. "No. I'm planning to invite the whole Bay City to live with us." Why was it so hard for him to believe that I want to spend the rest of my life with him? I came back to him, didn’t I? "You ain't movin' back to Venice Place."

Hutch's eyes widened.

Did Hutch think I didn’t know what was on his mind? "And I don't wanna live in this house forever, either. WE are going to look for a nice little house, with a sunroom or a green house, and a little backyard, a nice little kitchen, a good sized bathroom, and two bedrooms, at least, just for show. Three would be ideal if someone's visiting us."

"You and I?"

"Yes."

"We're going to live together?"

"We've been doing that… like forever. Haven't you noticed? Just wanna make it official."

"Official?"

"Till death do us part!"

Hutch turned white, again.

"Jeez, Hutch. Stop it."

He closed his eyes tightly.

I pulled him into a hug, his head resting sideways somewhere between my chest and stomach. "I've told you a million times that I won't leave you. You gotta believe in me."

"You don’t understand, Starsky."

 _I understood, more than Hutch could ever imagine._ I had to stomach each and every emotion Hutch suffered as he raced down the hospital corridor, seven months ago. "What happened to me is _not_ your fault."

"You died. _You died_ in that hospital and I wasn't even there." Hutch shook his head. "I had given up on you when you needed me the most. I went away leaving you all alone, and you died."

I had to put an end to this so that Hutch could be free of guilt. I had not talked about my strange experience with anyone because I had to get the facts straight before I did. So one day, I got Huggy to drive me to the Bay City library after a therapy session, in search of an explanation for the newly recalled recollections of my ordeal.

I found a couple of books published in the late 60s and early 70s about out-of-body and near-death experiences written by neurosurgeons, psychiatrists, and people who've had such experiences themselves. Not everything that I experienced was explained in those books. But I was able to piece together what I had lived through while I was dying. I had enough evidence to know what I had undergone was no hallucination, heart-felt longings, or memories, as claimed by some doctors the authors had contacted for their books.

I released Hutch, pulled a chair out, and sat down. "We need to talk," I said, covering one of Hutch's hands and wrapping my fingers around his.

Hutch returned the pressure, and pulled my hand onto his knee.

I couldn't help but shiver at how cold his hands had become. Talking about death or anything related to death could send Hutch into a panic attack. I had to go slow, but I had to get this over with, for his sake. "Have you ever heard of somethin' called out-of-body experiences?"

Hutch tensed up in a flash, getting ready to dive into the deep end from the high board and never come back. If I could get my act together, the fear and uncertainty would be erased from his heart forever.

"When I was at the hospital, before I woke up, I saw some stuff."

Hutch's eyes were glued to mine. I could only imagine what wheels were turning inside his head.

"I didn’t remember any of it right away. Then… a couple of weeks ago it all just came to me while I was talking about you with Kevin."

Hutch didn’t react, not even at the mention of Kevin's name.

"I wasn't sure whether it was all a dream or something I had imagined, until I started writing down everything that I could remember. Later on I went to the library and started reading about it."

"You went to the library by yourself? When the hell did that happen?"

_Gotcha!_

I felt my mouth widen in a smile. I was glad to hear anything from Hutch at this point. "Huggy took me there after therapy."

"You never told me."

"I'm tellin' you now."

Hutch drew a shaky breath and tightened his grip on my hand. "I've read an article about near-death experiences, long time ago when I was in college. It was written by a guy who had faced such a thing."

"Can you remember what was in it?"

"Not everything, but the author -- he had met with others who had similar experiences and had written about all of it, collectively. Some of the people had seen their loved ones during such incidents, some had identified with their guardian angels, and experienced a sense of calm, peacefulness and serenity. Some had even watched how surgical procedures were performed on them, giving details of certain events that had taken place during the surgery."

"What did you think of it?"

"Not much. I thought what they had described must've been just dreams or memories buried in their sub-conscious mind. Did you -- did you see anyone?"

"I didn’t see any guardian angels or anyone I know. I can say that for sure. But I felt peaceful."

Hutch's eyes were brimming with tears already. This's going to be a tough sell.

"Like I said. I didn’t know what was going on. Anyway… when I woke up for the first time, it really wasn't my body that was awake. I—I saw myself on the bed."

"What do you mean?"

"I was floating around the room like in a dream and I saw my body on the bed. I saw Dobey and Huggy looking at me through the glass window but… you were nowhere to be seen."

"I was there, too, at the beginning."

"I know that, now. But at that point… when I didn’t see you anywhere around, I thought you were dead. And all I wanted to do was find you."

"You mean your spirit, or your soul, left your physical body?" Hutch couldn’t control the tremor from his voice. "And you went looking for me?"

"Yeah—somethin' like that." I was glad Hutch could make sense of what I was saying. "The thing is… when I got shot, I didn’t really _know_ I was shot. I thought they had got you, and that was the last thing I had on my mind before everything turned dark."

"You were bleeding all over, and you were thinking of _me_?"

Hutch and his safety was my only concern. Not just that day, but every single day since we became friends. He was the first person I thought of when I woke up, and the last person I talked to before going to bed. "The reason my heart stopped-- I think… is because I thought you were gone as well, and I didn’t wanna live without you, Hutch. Especially, not when I could leave… move on."

Hutch swallowed hard and fast, brushing his hand across his eyes and dropping it on to his lap. "What are you really saying, Starsk?"

"I'm sayin' -- There's no life for me here or anywhere else if you're not around." I wiped away the damp streak that glistened across the back of Hutch's hand. "And the reason I am alive is because you got back to the hospital on time. I saw you runnin' through the corridors. You were wearing the same clothes you had on you that morning -- no surprises, of course. But… there was blood on your left sleeve cuff. And you had tied your red handkerchief--" I traced my fingers along the scar on his left wrist, "right here." _I didn’t tell him that I also felt everything he was feeling and shielding from the world._

"There's n-no-" A sob heaved in his chest, tears streaming along his cheeks.

"No. There's no way I would've known that."

Hutch's breathing accelerated and sweat glistened on his forehead, the unmistakable sign of his morning coffee deciding to take a detour. He pushed the chair back, stumbled into the bathroom, and collapsed in front of the toilet. His neck muscles seized as he emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl.

***

We were back in the living room. I sat on the floor by the sofa, facing the Christmas tree. "Come here," I said, patting the floor in front of me. There was only one way to finish the conversation without making him take unwanted bathroom trips. He looked at me with uncertainty when I got him to sit between my legs and lean his back against my chest. His grumblings about how we should be careful of my _already healed_ wounds died on his lips when I wrapped my arms around him and made him rest his head on my shoulder. He let out a long sigh and relaxed against me. The day's events had taken a toll on him.

"If you're not still sure of what I said way earlier—" I kissed the top of Hutch's shoulder, "this is what I meant." I pressed my lips to the side of his neck and then right under his ear, breathing in his scent. Felt right to have him like that, where he belonged. "I love you. And there's no way you're gonna get away from me. You smell too good."

Nothing else in the world is brighter and more beautiful as the smile that broke across Hutch's face. "Is that a promise?" he asked, his face as red as a Christmas stocking.

The fact that I could make my strong, tough partner blush just by a couple of words humbled me. "And there's another promise I can make, Hutch."

"What's that?"

"You'll never lose me again."

Hutch's smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. He tried to get up, but I didn’t allow him to.

"Just stay where you are." I held him tight.

"You can't promise me something like that, Starsk. We never can be sure of our lives, no matter what we do."

"Yes, I can, because… before I jumped into my body—I saw something about us." I had decided to tell Hutch the truth in a form of a lie, just because I couldn't tell him the real truth as it was. It'd only make him tangle into a guilt-ball I would never be able to untangle in this life.

"You had a vision?"

"No. Nothing like that, but it was like a message or knowledge that came to me."

"What was the _message_?"

"That you and I are gonna live for a long, long time… I mean really long. Like _old-old_ long. And you'll never have to see me die." That was the truth. But it wasn't fate or what lay in store for us. It was _my will, my wish, and my choice_. Hutch didn't have to know that.

Hutch's lower trip trembled and he parted his lips, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to say anything.

"Without worrying about death, you should start living, Hutch. We're gonna be fine."

Hutch sat up straight and turned around. He touched his palm to my cheek and searched my eyes. What he saw may have satisfied him. "I'm not going to lose you? _Ever_?"

"Not as long as you are alive."

"Oh, God." Hutch finally realized what I was saying. "You mean—?"

"You know what I mean."

"What about--"

"You wouldn’t have to wait that long."

"How can you be sure?"

"Do you think I'd lie to you about somethin' like this, Hutch?"

Hutch shook his head, accepting the truth I gave him. "And we're going to buy a house together?"

"Yup."

"And live together?"

"Uh, huh."

Hutch smiled, looking ten years younger. "Where's my ring?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Hutch gave me my life back with a reason to live. All I wanted to do was to keep him happy until the last day of his life, because that's what makes me happy. Because… he's me, and I'm him.

"Merry Christmas, Starsk." Hutch leaned forward.

My Christmas wishes were lost inside his mouth.

***

**_May, 1979. Starsky._ **

****

**_If there's one thing that you'd want to have, one thing that you'd wish for, what would that be?_ **

_What now… you turned into a genie or somethin'? Are you gonna grant me a wish?_

**_I might._ **

_Thought you were the universe. Don't you know what I'd want?_

**_That's what I was afraid of._ **

_Well… can you give me that?_

**_You want to leave this world after Hutch has lived the number of days he brought into this life. You want to be there with him, for him, until he breathes his last._ **

_Yup!_

**_The ultimate sacrifice._ **

_Hutch once said it’s always toughest on the ones left behind. I don't want to him to live with a broken heart, and die a lonely man._

**_What about you?_ **

_What about me?_

**_Can you live without him?_ **

_I can survive as long as I know he lived and died a happy man. And… now I know where he'd be until it's my time to leave. This's a beeeeyoutiful place, which is a million times better than the alternate._

**_Why does it have to be all about him?_ **

_Because… I saw, felt, and know how much he loves me._

**_But… you love him more._ **

_You got that right, Mr. Universe._

**_So be it. Your wish has been granted!_ **

 

***

If you live a hundred and forty-eight years, I want to live to be a hundred and forty-eight plus one day so that you never have to live without me.

***

 

The End


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